


A Game with Added Reality

by fandumbandflummery



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Biting, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Difference, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 12:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10741503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandumbandflummery/pseuds/fandumbandflummery
Summary: Fenn snarls wordlessly in return at the threat, but doesn’t resist, and braces his hands obediently against the ship’s wing. Humiliating as this whole thing is, at least he didn’t have to *touch* the man this time.





	A Game with Added Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is the darkest sexual thing I think I’ve ever written so far. This pairing doesn’t exactly give itself over to fluff. Apologies to Disney and Dave Filoni for doing this to their characters. 
> 
> Seriously, if non-con and power imbalances and abuse of power makes you even the least bit squeamish, turn back now. 
> 
> Based on this delightful ficlet -> http://wondersmithofastronautalis.tumblr.com/post/156233714092/fandumbandflummery-wondersmithofastronautalis
> 
> by wondersmithofastronautalis on tumblr.
> 
> Title courtesy of Depeche Mode's "Master and Servant".

“You know, you don’t have to make up some important confidential meeting to get me to come alone in a gully,” Fenn snarks from his current position, pressed bodily face-first against the wing of the Viceroy’s personal Kom'rk fighter.  
“Just land at our base - its much more convenient, and it’d probably boost my men’s morale to know that the Viceroy only hangs on to this moon by the tip of my kad.”

“And let your Protectors know that you’ve been sucking my cock for their freedom? You’d die of shame,” Saxon chuckles, pinning Fenn full-body along his back, and against his superior weight and size all the chief Protector can do is squirm ineffectually. 

“Besides, they’d probably replace you - you Dawn folk are all hung up on notions of honour and purity - and I’d never get to do this,” he hisses, grinding his hips blatantly against Fenn’s ass. All Fenn feels is the hard cold ridge of the Viceroy’s groin armour, but he knows from experience that Saxon’s already well on his way to hard underneath. He also knows - based on their previous encounters - he should’ve been on his knees and had Saxon’s cock halfway down his throat by now. The knowledge emboldens Fenn enough to loosen his tongue.

“Unlike you, my mouth’s not where my ass is. What’s the matter, fucking my throat’s not enough to get it up for you anymore, eh? Not quite the lusty mando'ade you claim to be to those saggy old Imps?”

Reflexively, Fenn reaches back with one hand to tangle in the long part of Saxon’s silver hair and pull, as some dim muscle memory seems to tell him that this is what one is supposed to do during a moonlit rutting session. The Viceroy’s reaction tells otherwise.

“Nayc!” Saxon growls, grabbing Fenn’s hands and slamming them hard against the metal of the Kom'rk’s wing, and using his weight to flatten Fenn against it.

“Hands to the wall, where I can see them,” the Viceroy hisses into his ear, “and touch me again without permission and I break your neck.”

Fenn snarls wordlessly in return at the threat, but doesn’t’ resist, and braces his hands obediently against the ship’s wing. Humiliating as this whole thing is, at least he didn’t have to *touch* the man this time. Still, his face burns red as Saxon manhandles him, detaching his groin armour and stripping the lower half of his undersuit down to his knees. Fenn can’t hold back a shiver, ass and thighs bare to the chilly night air, while Saxon backs away for a moment to fumble with his own gear. He hears Saxon spit into his palm several times, and some distinctive wet noises before he feels the other man’s warm weight at his back and the slick press of his cock against his ass.

Fenn swallows nervously, mildly worried now that the Viceroy intends to fuck him without prep. He breathes a sigh of relief and relaxes when instead Saxon’s cock slides in just under his buttocks, into the space between his thighs.

“Keep your legs together, tightly,” Saxon orders, slapping the side of one of Fenn’s bare thighs for emphasis.

“I hope it snaps off,” Fenn growls even as he complies, squeezing his legs together as hard as he can manage around the intruding prick. He gets a growl and a still-gauntleted hand shooting up to his throat to give a threatening squeeze of his larynx in return.

Fenn can’t hold back a pathetic whine at the sudden pressure on his airway, and damns the fact that Saxon can feel and hear it in his position. The lack of hesitation to use near-deadly force to get what he wants and the ease at which Saxon pins him down makes Fenn feel horribly vulnerable. Even without ever having seen the man without most of his armour on, Fenn knows that Saxon is bigger, stronger, and a far less honourable fighter than himself - and that making him seriously angry would end badly for him and everything else living within a few light-years of Concord Dawn.

So he grits his teeth and does his best to keep his mouth shut while Saxon thrusts between his thighs. It doesn’t take long for him to settle into a punishingly fast, rough rhythm. His free hand grips Fenn’s hip with bruising force, and occasionally he feels Saxon’s oddly sharp teeth on the back of his neck, biting into the skin like a mating strill, the pain making Fenn hiss and squirm ineffectively against the larger man’s iron-like hold. Saxon’s also noisy, grunting and moaning without the slightest inhibition, the sounds echoing slightly off the rocky walls of the gully. Fenn jerks every time the Viceroy lets out a particularly loud moan, pride fuelling fear that one of the outer sentries might hear them - and if anything that just drives Saxon even more wild.

“What’s the matter, Rau, afraid to let your men know how good you’re taking my cock?” Saxon rumbles, licking at his earlobe. Fenn hears the sneer in his voice even if he can’t see it.

“Fuck off,” Fenn grumbles as best he can with his face mashed against the starship’s wing, and mentally curses the other man’s superior bulk and vice-grip on his throat. In a perfect world he’d have the strength and will to have thrown the Viceroy to the ground and jammed his bootheel into his crotch for good measure by now.

This line of thought reminds Fenn, with irritation, that Saxon’s body and hands aren’t the only thing physically larger than Fenn’s, as he feels the Viceroy’s cock - now fully swollen to its impressive full size, dripping precome - making the spit-slicked passage between his legs even slicker. *Fucking waste of perfectly good cock on a right piece of osik*, he thinks bitterly. *But at least I’m not being choked with it this time.*

In fact, if he could only just divorce the fact that it was Gar “traitorous kyrt'sad scum” Saxon doing this, he could make some part of the experience tolerable…Fenn swallows hard, pressing his forehead hard against the cold metal of the Komr'k’s wing. Those were dangerous thoughts to be having at such a time, and he didn’t want to make a habit of it.

It’s either these thoughts or their combination with the biting and the contact and the noise - and the fact that the chief Protector of Concord Dawn hasn’t’ gotten properly laid in what feels like years - that gets Fenn’s body racing ahead of his conscious mind, and in moments he realizes that he is, in fact, achingly hard. Unfortunately, Saxon notices before he can do anything about it.

“Getting hard for me, Rau? I’m flattered,” he purrs into his ear while bringing the hand formerly at his hip to his cock, giving it a teasingly light stroke, flicking just under the swollen head. 

Fenn shudders at the contact, resisting the urge to give up and just fuck Saxon’s hand, to feel the delicious texture of the gauntlet’s leathery palm against his bare cock. Kark, it had just been so long - if he just gave in…  
Instead Fenn shakes his head to clear the thought, only partly successful - no, he must maintain whatever scrap of dignity remains to him.

“I’d- I’d sooner get hard over your dead body,” he pants, and Fenn does not even care how fucking weird that sounds. If anything the tone of his voice, clearly strained with arousal, gets Saxon even more turned on, precome now running down the insides of Fenn’s thighs. He gives Fenn’s own stiff cock a good squeeze, and he involuntarily thrusts into Saxon’s hand, a broken noise escaping his throat at the contact and the relief, feeling his cock give a few excited twitches and a spurt of precome. So close…

Suddenly the grip turns vicious, clamping hard around the base of his cock, squeezing his balls enough to hurt, and Fenn can’t hold back the whimper in his throat.

“Come before I do, and I bomb this moon to slag,” Saxon snarls.

Fenn tries to buck uselessly against the vice grip around his cock and balls, dignity forgotten in the pain of thwarted release. He doesn’t have to wait long, at least. Saxon gives a few more hard thrusts, before sinking his teeth into the back of the Protector’s neck, letting out a deep, shuddering groan. Fenn feels his cock pulse, spattering his thighs, his balls, his ass and even the Kom'rk’s wing a bit with come. He keeps moving, grinding shamelessly, enjoying every last little aftershock of pleasure, smearing his release around even more and making an absolute mess of everything on Fenn’s body below the waist. Probably on purpose, the bastard, a bitter voice in the back of Fenn’s mind snarls.

Finally, Saxon slumps against his back, letting go of his cock, relaxing he hold on his throat enough to let Fenn breathe with only minor struggle. Involuntarily or not, he makes a contented noise and nuzzles the back of his neck, stubble scraping over the skin he worried raw with his teeth, and Fenn flinches at the pain. He feels that familiar bile rise in his throat at his tone, and all he wants to do is throw the man off him, yank up his trousers and get away, damn his aching hard prick.

“Well done, Rau,” Saxon pants, sounding disgustingly satisfied.

“I guess I owe you a bit of recompense, for good behaviour.” Fenn is confused for a moment but then flinches with realization when he feels one of Saxon’s hands trail, ever so gently, down his stomach towards -

“Saxon, don’ t-” his protest dies in his throat as Saxon starts to jerk his cock in earnest. It’s no time at all until he’s spilling with a gasp over his gauntlet, a few streaks hitting the metal wing before him. Saxon keeps on stroking Fenn roughly, until he starts to soften in the other man’s hand and the overstimulation starts to hurt.

And then just like that, Saxon’s hand vanishes and his weight is gone from his back. Fenn staggers backwards, nearly tripped up by the trousers bunched around his knees, and only just manages to avoid falling on his ass as he pulls his trousers back up. He winces as he feels the sticky mess spreading between his legs, now staining the inside of his suit. He’s going to need one hell of a shower when he gets back to base.

He looks up to see Saxon standing by - now fully dressed and looking entirely unruffled barring his slightly flushed cheeks - as he contemplates the come streaks decorating the ship’s previously immaculate wing surface.

“I hope it ruins the fucking paint,” Fenn grumbles, if only to give voice to his thoughts and not so much for Saxon to hear as he replaces his armour and re-buckles his belt.

“Oh, I think it adds a certain something,” Saxon replies, voice completely neutral, “besides, it does well to keep reminders of good….service,” he smirks, and Fenn resist the urge to throw a punch at his jaw.

“Until next time, Protector,” Saxon calls as he climbs up into the cockpit, and Fenn steps back as the Kom'rk lifts off, vanishing into the night sky.

Fenn spits angrily at the spot where the ship touched down, before stalking back in the direction of the base, ignoring the shameful burning in his face and the tears starting to run.


End file.
